Page 32 of Vanquishing the Viscount

“Why must I look elsewhere?” he asked, coming closer.

“Because…it will surely be very expensive to make all these alterations. If you find a building that already has bigger windows, taller ceilings, and so on, would that not save your charity money?”

His eyes darkened with suspicion as he came face-to-face with her. “That’s not the real reason,” he said. “Be honest with me, Emma.”

Damn him! She couldn’t think straight when he was standing so close, looking at her like that. It felt as if he was scouring her soul.

“Very well,” she conceded reluctantly. “I simply don’t want you tearing my home apart.”

He lifted his chin and gazed at her with hooded eyes. “You think me a vandal, I believe. When all I care about is the veterans’ comfort.”

“It would be easy enough to find a different house that you won’t have to ruin to meet your needs. Tresham has a history dating back to medieval times—all of that would be lost.”

“What do medieval times matter,” he snapped, his face paling, “when soldiers are suffering? Honorable men who have served their country well. People are more important than bricks and mortar, or even marble and plaster. Surely, you realize that, Emma? I’m not having injured or crippled men cracking their heads on too low doorframes, or walking into tables because there’s not enough light, or falling down narrow steps because there’s no space for a handrail.”

“Of course not! But then find somewhere else! Somewhere more suitable than here,” she bit back at him. “In fact, you can begin looking right now. I’m going to find Papa and tell him to turn down any offer you make. He would never have encouraged you to buy the place if he’d known what you planned for it.”

“Emma, wait! Please!”

She shot him a defiant look over her shoulder, then saw him stagger and put out a hand to steady himself against the quince tree. His face was white as a sheet.

It took a moment to realize that the viscount was genuinely ill. Forgetting their enmity, she hurried back to support him.

“What’s the matter? Are you sick?”

“No, no,” he replied weakly. “Just a little tired. Perhaps we might sit down a moment.”

But he couldn’t even make it as far as the stone bench. He clung with one hand to the tree, the other clutching her shoulder while she supported his weight as best she could. Thankfully, the manservant, Arthur, came running in response to her shouts.

Tidworth was now breathing rapidly, each breath a shuddering torment. Whatever had come over him? Was there something in the garden he was reacting to, perhaps? Or was his evening at the inn finally catching up with him?

“Help me get him into the house,” she told Arthur. “He’s been taken ill and must go to bed immediately.”

“D’ye think he can manage the stairs, miss?” the servant asked, visibly shocked by the viscount’s condition.

“Perhaps not. We’ll set him down in the hall while I get Sarah to make up that old truckle bed in the parlor. It might do more harm than good to try getting him up the stairs.”

Her mother and father burst out of the drawing room, then froze in shock as Emma struggled to loosen the viscount’s cravat and clothing. His whole body was shaking now—this was more serious than too many tankards of ale.

“Don’t crowd me, please,” she exhorted them. “Mama, could we get some thin gruel or barley water made up?”

“Oh, if only George were still here!” her mother exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “He’d know what to do at once.”

That rankled. But as the viscount had reminded her numerous times, Emma’s knowledge of medicine was at best thirdhand. George would doubtless know better than she what to do in these circumstances. All she could do was look things up in books and make informed decisions until the local physician could be sent for.

Papa said, “This violent shivering reminds me of the ague I had a few weeks ago.”

“Oh great heavens, what will become of us if Rossbury’s heir were to die here at Tresham?” wailed Mama.

“He’s not going to die on us,” Emma said stoutly. “Are you, my lord?”

But there was no answer.

The viscount was no longer conscious.

Chapter Twenty-One

A near-nightmare panic ensued in the household, which lasted the better part of an hour, but eventually Emma was able to convince everyone to let her take charge of the situation.